


Videotapes

by blurimia



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Billy Hargrove Lives, Family Video (Stranger Things), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-13 21:22:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29160354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blurimia/pseuds/blurimia
Summary: Before Steve can say anymore, there’s a loud snap that echoes from the treeline. Steve’s whole body goes electric, jumping like a live wire as he shoots his head towards the sound. He’s back in the tunnels again, with his bat steel-gripped between his hands, listening for even the smallest sounds. He’s back in the hallways under Starcourt-“Jesus, Harrington you look like a sheet,” It wrenches Steve from his thoughts. “You scared of a fucking squirrel?”He’s looking at Steve like he hadn’t realized Steve was crazy until just now.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 11
Kudos: 46





	1. Chapter 1

_Steve,_

_Work called. Urgent. They need us in California by tonight. We’ll be gone for a week at most._

Steve would be lying if he said he didn’t know this was coming. He saw the way his father plaintively avoided his eyes, the way his mother looked at him sadly. Scoops Ahoy had been the last nail on the coffin, all hope dissipating of having a successful son. 

The fridge is empty, excluding a half-empty orange juice, bread, condiments, and some beers. They left a wad of cash next to the note, a large enough amount of money that Steve could tell they planned on being gone for definitely more than a week.

He grabs a beer, letting the fridge door slam, something his father would scold him for. The beer would help stifle the buzzing in his skin, the house from fucking suffocating him. He snatches his keys on the way out of the door, using his swiss army knife, something Dustin had _insisted_ he has, to pop open the bottle. (“Steve, Billy Hargrove, you know- Max’s insane brother who has tried to kill us on multiple occasions- is your _coworker_. It would be insane _not_ to bring some kind of weapon to wield against the undead.”) It’s cold, September turning to October, so Steve hurries to the BMW and turns up the heat, chugging down the beer. 

He’s never shown up to work buzzed before, probably because he’s only been working at Family Video a couple of months, but Steve’s never been one to turn down trying something new. The door rings when he steps through the doors and _fuck_ it’s Billy who looks up from behind the cash register to greet him, closing his mouth to stop an automatic greeting when realizes it's just Steve. 

Billy looks rough this morning, well, Steve thinks, rougher than usual. The bags under his eyes look more pronounced and his hair has lost its usual perfect-ness. His shirt’s buttoned up all the way, but some of the ugly, pink scars that litter his chest still peek through around his neck. Their eyes meet, for only a second, until Billy looks back down at whatever it is he has hidden behind the counter. 

This day couldn't get any worse. Steve’s starving and thirsty and tired and now, just to top it all off, he has to work all day with Billy fucking Hargrove. He shoves his way through the _EMPLOYEES ONLY_ door, grabbing a red vest and shrugging it on. He makes his way back and sits behind the counter, in the chair farthest from Billy, refusing to look at him.

When he finally gives in, only because his skin is prickling from where Billy is burning daggers into it, Billy’s piercing blue eyes are looking at him. The side of his head resting in between the crook of his elbow, which is perched on the store counter, a book open in his other hand. 

“You look like shit Harrington.”

“You’re one to talk, Hargrove.”

Billy snorts, then stands up, the chair scraping the linoleum floor. The sound makes Steve’s ears tingle. Billy makes a show of dragging his chair over to Steve, nearly knocking over a display on the counter in the process, and then sitting back down and slumping into the cheap plastic. Steve feels like he’s going to vibrate out of his own skin, so he shifts in his seat, looking down at his hands for a moment and then back over to Billy, who’s _right next to him_. Billy’s eyes rake over him, up and down, before he settles back into reading his book, _Fahrenheit 451._

“I read that book for English class last year.” It tumbles out of Steve’s mouth before he can stop himself. It’s true, Steve did read that book, but only maybe the first 10 pages, before he decided it wasn’t worth his time.

“Yeah?” Billy’s grinning, the one that’s all teeth but no bite, looking up from his book. Steve can’t stop thinking about how tired Billy looks and how this is maybe the first time they’ve talked since-- well, everything. All the shit that went down at Starcourt, Steve doesn’t like to think about it, to be honest. “What’d you think of it, ‘cause I’m only, like, halfway through it and it’s boring as shit.”

“Uh,” Steve shifts in his seat. “It was alright.”

Billy shrugs. “Someone left it in the lost and found and I thought it would be better than staring at your ugly face.”

Steve flips him off.

Billy stretches in his seat, yawning like this was a perfectly normal thing to be happening. “This place is so fucking monotonous. It's like I did actually die at Starcourt and this is my own personal hell.” His grin had turned manic, a glint in his eyes that Steve recognized as the same one he had the night he had beaten Steve to a pulp.

Steve swallowed and decided to press his luck. “Why do you even work here anyway?”

“Had to pay the hospital bills somehow.”

Oh. Steve had never thought about that. When they had brought Billy to the hospital, his entire torso had been covered in blood, a wound in his chest that looked bigger than Steve’s head. It was completely and utterly terrifying. The entire drive, Steve had an iron grip on the steering wheel, trying not to focus on the way Billy’s breaths were getting farther and farther apart and how every couple minutes, Billy would start coughing, choking on his own blood. When Steve had finally got home, he had scrubbed dried blood of his upholstery for what felt like hours, his hands shaking. He hadn’t slept that night and his hands hadn’t stopped trembling until Nancy had come over to check on him, the next morning. _Steve, I’m worried about you..._

Billy's staring at him now, in that way that makes Steve feel like a book. Billy’s thinking of that night too, he can tell. They sit in silence, with only the sound of pages turning, until the door chimes.

Both Steve and Billy look up and say in perfect unison: “Welcome to Family Video, for all your family-friendly video needs!” 

The woman, wearing a windbreaker and running shorts, is soaked with sweat. She gives them a strained smile and wanders into a nearby aisle, looking slightly off-put by their accidental Shining-Twins act. Steve doesn’t know what it is, maybe it's the beer that he drank this morning or the absurdity of this day, or the fact that he hasn’t eaten, but he _loses_ it. He thinks he might be hysterical because he’s laughing harder than he has in weeks with _Billy Hargrove_ standing next to him. Billy’s looking at him like Steve had just told him he uses Farah Fawcett hairspray (and Steve plans on taking that piece of information to his grave, thank you very much). 

He doesn’t expect Billy to start laughing with him too. They only stop once Steve's side starts to hurt, both gasping for breath. “Like the- like the fucking Shining Twins,” Billy huffs, suddenly sitting up in his chair, perfectly straight, making his head tilt and eyes go big. “ _Redrum, redrum._ ”

Steve explodes. There are definitely fucking tears streaming down his face, but he’s never seen Billy laugh like this, let alone do impressions. It’s all too much. “That’s _exactly_ what I was thinking!” He doesn’t mean for it to come out all high and girly, but it does.

The moment’s broken when Jogger Women makes her way to the counter, clutching a movie (one of those cheesy exercise tutorials his Mom uses) glancing between the two of them like she could sprint out of the store at any moment. Steve rings her up, “Have a nice day!”. Once the door to the bell rings and the door slams shut, he turns to Billy, who’s settled into the plastic folding chair nicely: His feet are propped up onto the counter, his chair leaned back, his book open in his hands. When he notices Steve staring, he looks up.

“Hey,” Steve flashes his _King Steve_ smile, something he hasn’t used in what feels like ages and pulls out his Marlboros from his back pocket. “Care for a smoke?”

Billy throws his head back and cackles, then, stands up and tosses his book onto the counter then, “Now _that's_ what I’m fucking talking about Harrington.”

And that's how Steve ends up sitting on the back steps of Family Video, leaned in close to Billy as they take long drags of their cigarettes. There’s about an inch of space in between them, so close that Steve can feel the heat radiating off of Billy’s skin. The steps look out to the forest, where the leaves have turned to deep oranges and browns and it’s the most peaceful Steve has felt this whole year: breathing in the smoke and the cool air and the rotting leaves, sitting next to Billy Hargrove in comfortable silence.

“Fall’s my favorite season,” Steve blows smoke towards the treeline, watching it rise us and cloud his vision for a moment. Working retail is probably the most boring job to ever exist, maybe even worse than the office job that his Dad works, but maybe Billy could make it more interesting.

Billy’s looking at the treeline too, “I fucking hate the cold,” It comes out hot and angry. He inhales his cigarette and lets the smoke out slowly. “Winter fashion doesn’t really let me show off my fine physique.”

Steve huffs. “Shut the fuck up,” But it’s lost all its malice on its way out of his mouth, so it just sounds fond. 

“Not all of us look as good in a sweater as you, Harrington.” Billy turns to him, so their knees bump, and waggles his eyebrows, flashing a grin. 

Steve rips his eyes from the treeline to meet Billy’s gaze. “True.”

Before Steve can say anymore, there’s a loud snap that echoes from the treeline. Steve’s whole body goes electric, jumping like a live wire as he shoots his head towards the sound. He’s back in the tunnels again, with his bat steel-gripped between his hands, listening for even the smallest sounds. He’s back in the hallways under Starcourt, thinking, _oh god, what will I tell Mrs. Henderson if Dustin doesn’t come back, oh god, oh god._

“Jesus, Harrington you look like a sheet,” It wrenches Steve from his thoughts. “You scared of a fucking squirrel?”

He’s looking at Steve like he hadn’t realized Steve was crazy until just now. 

“Sorry,” Steve tries to relax, to shake the humming in his head, to try to find some excuse to go rush to the BMW and finish the rest of the beer. Billy’s so _close_ , it feels like he’s crushing him. The treeline feels like it’s getting closer and closer, the smoke from Billy’s cigarette is nauseating, and Steve’s skin feels raw where their knees touched. With every exhale, less air comes back in, and _fuck_ Steve is going to be sick. 

“Harrington?”  
  


Nancy taught him this breathing trick. To calm him down the night after Starcourt. _It’s called 4-7-8; you breathe in for 4, hold for 7, breathe out for 8._ Steve breathes in, holds, and breathes out. Nancy wouldn’t do this. She wouldn’t freak out over a fucking squirrel. She wouldn't have trouble sleeping because of an empty house. She wouldn’t _lose it,_ outside a Family Video, because she wouldn’t ever allow herself to end up working at said Family Video. She would leave Hawkins as soon as she could like Robin did. She wouldn’t end up stuck in this nowhere town drowning in dead-end jobs and Billy Hargrove.

“Steve?” Billy’s never called him that before.

It brings Steve back, all the way back. Hearing Billy say his name is like a slap to the face. He doesn’t look at Billy, just stares back at the treeline in case a demodog plans to leap at him. You can never be too careful, hell, maybe Dustin's swiss army knife will come in handy after all. 

“Fuck,” He stubs his cigarette and rubs a hand down his face. His limbs feel like they’re filled with lead and he can barely form a sentence. “I think I’m just jumpy from not sleeping enough.”

Billy just nods slowly and looks away, back towards the treeline.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s like when you learn a new word and start to see it everywhere, hear it everywhere. Billy is filling up the spaces in Steve’s life without even really meaning to, with his stupid books and his stupid mullet. It’s got to be a one in a billion chance that the same day Billy was reading Fahrenheit 451 is the same day that they play a show with the author's name in it. What the ever-loving fuck. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would just like to thank everyone who commented on my last chapter!!! They nearly made me cry :') Ive never written fic ever in my entire life so this is brand new and everyone was just so so so sweet. I hope you guys like this chapter :) sorry it's out so late! i'm trying to update at least once a week at the very least.

After that, Billy treats Steve like a spooked animal; no sudden movements, no talking, no acknowledging his existence for the rest of the day. That’s fine, it just leaves Steve with more time to replay the moment over and over. To overanalyze everything he said and didn’t say. When his shift ends, he doesn’t even notice he’s forgotten to take off his vest until he’s pulled out of the parking lot. 

Steve’s about to turn onto his street when he’s so kindly reminded by his stomach that 1. he hasn’t eaten all day and 2. there is absolutely no food to eat at his house. He didn’t pocket the cash that his parents gave him and there is no way in hell he is going back to that empty house unless he absolutely needs to. Not when the pool glows a sickly green, illuminating his room even when he closes the curtains. So he pulls over, next to the old playground he used to go to with Tommy when they were still in elementary school, then in eighth to smoke weed and drink stolen beers. He digs around his glove box for loose change and comes up with 4 dollars, 5 pennies, a dime, and an old scrunchie that Nancy must have left. Well, shit. 

He ends up driving to the Mcdonalds on Farley Mount Road. It's seen better days, the bricks are crumbling and half of the signature M-sign doesn’t even light up. He’s in the middle of ordering, somehow he was able to get a Big Mac, fries, and a coke for only _$2.59_ (something about that doesn’t seem morally correct to Steve) when a familiar voice calls out his name. 

“Steve!”

He turns around to see Dustin and his shadow, Will, making their way towards him. 

“Henderson!” He initiates the handshake without even thinking, forgetting that they have an audience of one pissed-off-looking cashier. “You would not believe the day I’m having, Billy-”

“Billy?” Dustin's face darkens. “Steve, you still have the swiss army knife I gave you right?”

“What- Dustin, no, he didn’t do anything. Actually-”

The cashier clears her throat. 

After paying, they sit at one of the cheap plastic booths. The burger’s the best thing Steve has ever tasted, something that would make Ronald Mcdonald proud. He’s halfway into inhaling his fries when he looks up to see Dustin and Will both looking at him with a mixture of disgust and amazement.

“What?” Except his mouth is filled with food, so instead, it just sounds like an unintelligible grunt.

“Steve, my man, in my whole life, my whole 14 years of living, never have I seen something more disgusting than _that_.” He raises a finger to point at Steve. Will just nods in agreement, dipping one of his fries into his barbeque sauce, which is, in Steve’s opinion, the only correct way to eat Mcdonald's fries. “I mean, seriously, in school they made us watch some health documentary about fast food- Do you know what they put in that stuff? Half of it is not even real food, it’s like GNO or some shit- or was it GMO?”

“GMO.” Will corrects, not looking up from his fries.

“Right, not to mention how bad it is for the animals-”

“Dustin,” Steve swallows the last of his burger. “I’m all for this new and improved hippie lifestyle you’ve got going on, but you literally got the same meal as me.”

Dustin shrugs and takes a bite of his burger. “A man's gotta eat, Steve.”

Steve snorts and kicks Dustin's leg from under the table. “Where’s the rest of the party?”

“Date night.” 

He can tell that Dustin tries not to look too sad about it, but his face betrays him for a second when it flashes with disappointment.

“Sounds boring as shit,” echoing Billy's words at the Video store.

“Yeah,” Dustin laughs at that, Will gives a small smile. “It does.”

  
  


He gets back to the house at around 7, after spending nearly 2 hours in the Mcdonald's with Dustin and Will. The sun’s starting to set, casting long shadows on the walls and floors. It makes goosebumps rise on the backs of Steve's arms.

Steve showers, changes into an old t-shirt and basketball shorts, and then makes his way back to the living room, collapsing onto the couch.

He doesn’t sleep in his room that much anymore. Most nights, when his parents aren’t home, he puts the TV volume down low, turns on all the lights, and maybe catches a couple of hours if he can on the couch. Hawkins is a quiet town (excluding the secret government testing), but at night, the silence is deafening. Every time Steve closes his eyes, his ears focus on the tiny sounds almost drowned out by a rerun of _The Ray Bradbury Theater._ There’s a rustle of some leaves and a snap of a branch outside of the slider door, but before Steve can listen for more, the commercial break ends, letting a narrator's voice cut in, “...Ray Bradbury, the author of the critically acclaimed book, _Fahrenheit 451_ …” It makes Steve perk his head up from where it's lying on the arm of the couch to look at the TV. 

It’s like when you learn a new word and start to see it everywhere, hear it everywhere. Billy is filling up the spaces in Steve’s life without even really meaning to, with his stupid books and his stupid mullet. It’s got to be a one in a billion chance that the same day Billy was reading _Fahrenheit 451_ is the same day that they play a show with the author's name in it. What the ever-loving fuck. 

Steve makes an angry sound and makes a grab for the TV remote, changing the channel. There's not many options at 1 o’clock in the morning, so Steve settles for some boring nature documentary about sea life. The ocean noises are nice, like white noise, so Steve turns up the volume a couple more notches and closes his eyes.

  
  


He wakes up to a knocking at his door that sounds like a hundred little woodpeckers have all just decided to go to town on Steve’s front door. He’s on his feet and turning the knob before he’s really even awake, pushing open the door with an exasperated, “ _What?!”_

It's Max, holding her fist in a motion to knock at the door some more. She lowers her hand and backs up to stand in the glow of the porch light, which highlights the determined look on her face, her mouth all scrunched up towards her nose. Then, she gestures her thumb to point behind her. “Billy’s in the back.”

That’s when Steve realizes that it’s still pitch black outside, so he couldn’t have been asleep for more than a couple of hours. He can make out the shine of a car through the porch light. “What? Billy? How did he- Why did you-” Then, “Did you drive here?”

Max doesn’t answer, just turns, whipping her ponytail behind her, and walks towards the car. Steve sighs, because at this point _what is his life_ and follows. 

He can barely make out what’s inside the car, once Max throws open the door to the backseat. He can make out Billy lying on the upholstery, but before he can let his eyes adjust a little more, Max is pulling Billy up with a strength Steve didn't know she had and pushing him into Steve’s arms. Billy’s like a dead weight, a very very _heavy_ dead weight. He stands in shock for a second, while Max looks at him with her arms crossed, face golden in the porch light. “Max, What the hell happened to him?”

Max chews on her lip and considers before saying, “Bar fight.”

They lug Billy into the house and onto the living room couch, which involves knocking over the coat rack that guards the front door and almost dropping Billy two times. Thank god Steve’s parents aren’t home. They stand, panting, Steve even may have had to put his hands on his knees for an embarrassing second before he really gets a good look at Billy.

It’s bad. Really bad. There’s blood gushing out of Billy’s nose that’s smeared all down his mouth and neck, covering some of the blooming bruises on his chin and staining his jean jacket. Steve thinks he can see a spot of red in the mess that is Billy’s hair too. But it’s not his head that Steve’s worried about. His shirts unbuttoned halfway, allowing full display of his torso. It’s bad. Really _really_ bad. There are welts and bruises just-- everywhere. Some of the hits even broke the skin, so there’s blood dripping thick onto the fabric of the couch. His mom will not be happy about that. Steve’s never seen a bar fight that's turned out like this, never. Whatever Billy did must have been really _really_ bad. 

“He wasn't waking up, so I just thought- I mean, he’s never been out this long and I was so scared and I didn’t know what to do but I couldn’t just leave him there. Dustins always talks about how if we're ever in trouble, we should go to Steve’s because your parents are never around and so I went to your house, which, by the way, I think I may have hit a trash can or something because parking is not really my forte. I just need like a-like a first aid kit or something and then I’ll be out of your hair.” Max takes a deep breath after that, because she had said all that in a single breath and then looks down at her feet.

“Why didn’t you just use the first aid kit at your house?” He asks absently, still taking in Billy.

“Didn’t have one. Plus, Neils not a big fan of people waking him up.”

“Ooo-kay.” She’s fidgety, defensive, so Steve drops it and goes to dig around for an old first aid kit and some Ibuprofen.

When he comes back, Max is asleep curled up on the couch next to Billy, head rested on the arm of the couch. If Billy wasn’t covered head to toe in blood, it would almost be a heartwarming scene. Steve doesn’t wake her, just sets to work on patching Billy up. He’s still breathing, which is good, but he reeks of alcohol and if he doesn’t wake up soon, Steve might have to resort to dumping cold water on him. He’s had to do to Tommy the couple times that he’s drunk too much in a stupid keg-stand competition or something of equal idiocy, trust Steve when he says that no one is too happy waking up drenched in freezing water, even if you probably saved their life. Steve does not want to have to deal with a wet, pissed-off Billy Hargrove unless it’s absolutely necessary.

He starts with the bloody nose first, because it’s the least intimidating. It doesn’t take that long to wipe all of the blood, but it makes Steve feel a lot better to see that Billy’s face isn’t really that banged up, just looked like it from all the blood. He’s about to start bandaging up his ribs when he decides against it. He’s definitely going to have to toss him into the shower if he wants to get rid of the growing pit in his stomach sprouting from thoughts that Billy might never wake up. There’s no point in bandaging Billy all up if he’s just going to have to wash it all away.

It takes until the sun rises to heave Billy up the steps and into his bathroom shower. He sets Billy into the tub so that the crease of Billy’s knees rests on the lip of the tub and the rest of his body dips low into the container. Steve weighs his choices, showerhead in hand before he decides _fuck it,_ and turns the knob to the coldest setting.

The reaction is immediate. Billy shoots up from where he’s resting against the tile, “What the FUCK!” Though its effect is dampened by the fact that he keeps spitting water out of his mouth every five seconds. His eyes are closed, unable to open them because of all the wet hair that’s fallen into his face and his hands are scrambling around blindly for something to grapple onto. Unfortunately, the nearest thing his hands find is Steve’s leg, which he yanks almost immediately to try and pull himself out of the spray. 

Steve just barely catches himself on the tile adjacent to him, but he drops the showerhead in the process, which causes water to shoot onto his nice, dry t-shirt and straight up his nostrils. God, he is going to kill Billy for this. His eyes water from the pressure and he starts to sputter uncontrollably. When he finally gets the last bit of water out from his nose, he looks up to find Billy looking at him with the most infuriating shit-eating grin he’s ever seen in his whole life. He looks like he might be even biting his lip to keep himself from laughing. _Asshole._

“Hey, princess.”

It takes everything in Steve not to punch him in the face. Instead, Steve huffs out of the bathroom before he can cause himself more work and grabs a towel for Billy (the most worn down, scratchiest one Steve can find) and one for himself from the hall closet. Billy’s still in the same position as before, except now he’s stretched his arms across the edge of the tub, watching him with an amused expression as he stomps into the bathroom and launches the towel at Billy’s face.

“Is it that time of the month, princess?” He’s cackling to himself now, clearly happy with Steve’s reaction.

“You know, most normal people don’t immediately insult the person who just saved their life.”

Billy shrugs as he attempts to dry himself off, “Guess I’m just not most normal people.”

Steve follows the motion of Billy’s hands as he tries to dry off his chest, but keeps wincing as it brushes up against the cuts and bruises that cover his ribs. He’s a lot paler than he used to be. His skin used to be so golden that in the height of the summer, half the grade fully believed that Billy got a spray tan regularly. Now, he looks like he only goes outside to go to the video store and spends the rest of his time in a bunker. Steve doesn’t realize that he’s been staring at Billy’s chest for a good minute until Billy waves a hand to snap Steve out of his stupor.

“Do you wanna take a picture?”

“Fuck off, Hargrove.”

Steve’s red as a fire hydrant now, he knows it. His face feels too hot for his own skin and he would very much like to melt into a puddle on the floor and never be seen again. But instead, he grabs the roll of bandages and tries to take the high road for once.

He’s got his hands on Billy’s skin before he’s even aware of what he’s even really doing, only realizing what’s happening when Billy’s laughter suddenly stops, breath hitching. _High road, remember. High. Road._ He starts to carefully bandage the biggest gash, on Billy’s right side. It’s a nasty bruise where the skin’s broken from what looks like repeated punches, spreading blues and purples mixed with blood. _God._ His fingers accidentally flit over the bruise while bandaging, which produces a hiss and sharp intake of breath from Billy. It tickles the shell of Steve’s ear, from where he’s perched on the lip of the tub, with his legs inside it, next to Billy. He’s leaned over Billy while he works; he’s impossibly close, so, so close. Old-Steve would never believe anyone if they told him that this is what he would be doing on a Thursday night in late September. Old-Steve had plans of college and partying and fun and girls. Not playing nurse for Billy Hargrove. Never in a million years.

They don’t speak while Steve works, trying to look everywhere but Billy’s gaze. Billy’s eyes are on him the entire time, never once looking away from Steve’s face. That’s fine, it makes it less likely that he notices Steve’s hands have started to shake. It’s like a challenge. _Do it. Look at me. Do it, Harrington._ When he finishes, he pushes himself away from Billy before meeting his eyes. Before finally excepting the challenge. Up close would be too dangerous.

“You’re welcome.” It comes out a little more bitchy than Steve meant.

“All you need is a sexy nurse costume and you’d be the perfect bitch, Harrington.”

It’s not a thank you, but the tension between them fades, so Steve thinks it's pretty damn close.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> hope you liked it! ill be adding more in the future!


End file.
